


I Scald Alone, Here, Under the Fire of a Great Moon

by LaDonnaErrante



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First War with Voldemort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Order of the Phoenix (organization not the book), Remus/Sirius Games 2014, Team Magic, War-time fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3082094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDonnaErrante/pseuds/LaDonnaErrante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first year at war, trouble is on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Scald Alone, Here, Under the Fire of a Great Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta for your encouragement and help! And to all my teammates for their cheerleading and brilliant suggestions along the way. All remaining errors and awkward phrases are mine alone. The characters and their world belong to JKR and the title to Amy Lowell. 
> 
> Prompt: "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival

 

 

_I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart_   
_against_   
_The want of you;_   
_Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,_   
_And posting it._   
_And I scald alone, hre, under the fire_   
_Of the great moon._

                            --“Letters” by Amy Lowell

 

**New Moon: Battlefield at Chudleigh, November 1978**

No amount of bandaging Remus after the full moon could have prepared him for this. Clouds left the sky dark and starless. The last vestiges of green light hung over the field, snaking down from a now rather shapeless skull. Shadows in long dark robes moved quietly in the mist. Fifty new Order recruits walked slowly through the wreckage. Every so often, a red X appeared and hovered over the remains of the dead. Far less frequently, a set of green sparks would go up and the medics would rush to portkey the wounded to a safe-house. Sirius gagged. The smell of burned flesh filled his nostrils.  
Sirius bent down to examine the first body he came upon. Rolling the man over on his back, he found his chest split wide open by a Bombarda. The metallic scent of blood overwhelmed him. He tried not to look at the wound, but found himself horribly transfixed. Bones stuck out in odd places. Viscous blood and tissue spilled out of the wound. He found himself trying to put it all back in place, his hand covered in a warm sticky goo. At the feel of it, he snatched his hand back, wiped it on the rough fabric of his robe. Fighting a wave of nausea, he checked for a pulse. It was more of a reflex than anything.  
Working quickly, he sent up red sparks and moved to the side. He felt the rise of sour vomit in his throat. He heaved, emptying the contents of his stomach on the blood-stained grass. Sitting back, he wiped his mouth shakily, shivering.  
“Black,” a familiar voice growled. “Up and at ‘em. No time for dawdlin’. There’s a man to your left who needs seeing to.”

 

**Waxing Crescent: Hogwarts, February 1978**

The two boys stood at the edge of the frozen lake, steam from their breaths rising in the cold air like smoke. Remus stamped his feet and blew into his hands, trying to warm them.

“Cold?” asked Sirius.

“Left my wand in the castle.”

“Here,” Sirius pulled his own wand out and cast a warming charm. Remus felt the air around him move. The tips of his ears were the first to sting as numbness subsided and they gradually warmed, then his fingers and nose. In mere moments, the whole of his body was almost uncomfortably toasty.

They stood in silence, watching the snow fall furiously over the lake as thunder sounded above. A loud thump broke the stillness, followed by a cracking sound as the giant squid beat the thick ice from below. The ice splintered, one long fissure forming from the middle of the lake all the way to the shore.

"So," Sirius said.

"Don't even start. You know I can't join up."

“Bollocks.”

Remus snorted very slightly and studied his feet. “You really think they’d take me?” He huffed. “Be reasonable, Sirius. I’ll be lucky to get a job in a shop in my condition.”

“Fuck that.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s fucked up, and you know it. Dumbledore would let you in if you’d just ask him.”

“Maybe I don’t want to live on favors.”

“Merlin, Remus, it’s not a favor if you’re actually good at the job. Plus, he could always unleash your furry little problem on a bunch of Death Eaters.” Sirius laughed. “It’d serve ‘em right.”

“Are you insane? That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” He turned and walked away briskly, his eyes filling with tears. After a few steps, he just ran. When he came to the broom shed, he pushed his way inside. He sat on a bench, put his head in his hands, and sobbed.

He felt a warm nose push at his hands. He wasn’t going to give into Padfoot. Then, the insistent nose slipped under his arm, knocking his hand away from his face.

“Sirius. No.”

The dog whined and lay down, placing his head on Remus’ feet. Remus peered down at the big shaggy dog through his fingers and let out a sigh.

“I want to fight You-Know-Who. I do. It makes me sick, what he’s doing. But even if I could join the Order, I can’t afford to enlist full time. And there’s no way I’d be allowed in the Auror Training Program.”

Now, he was angry. “I’m not some weapon to be aimed and fired at will. The consequences would be too great. That’s what he wants. They’ve been recruiting in werewolf circles for the last few years. Greyback already came to talk to me.”

He felt a cold wind on his feet and shins where Padfoot had been only moments before. And there was Sirius standing next to him, not a foot away. Remus looked up to see Sirius’ ashen face.

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Of course not. But shit Moony, you didn’t piss him off, did you?”

Remus laughed weakly, “No, you berk. Told him I wasn’t making any decisions till after Hogwarts.”

“And then what?”

“Dunno. I mean, I can’t join up, that’s obvious. But what will they do to me, if I say no?” Remus gripped Sirius’ hand so hard his knuckles were white. Sirius, helpless and speechless, perhaps for the first time in his entire life, squeezed back.

 

**First Quarter: Order of the Phoenix Training Camp, July 1978**

The bonfire rose high in the summer night. Snapping and crackling, it occasionally let off blue or green sparks. The men chattered loudly, laughing and shoving on another playfully. Low on the horizon, the full moon was rising.

“She was one hot bird,” Sirius heard Peter brag. Any excuse to tell them about the only girl he’d shagged.

On a wet log a few feet from the fire, Sirius sat apart from the group. He listened to them joke and tease. James’ voice, thick with booze, boomed, telling them how much he loved and missed Lily. Another voice responded, “Oh please, Potter. Not that shit again. Grow a pair of balls, will you? We’re soldiers now.”

Sirius watched the moon rise big and low in the clear sky. They were soldiers now, he and Peter and James. Not Remus, though. All alone in the Shrieking Shack, Remus was fighting a different kind of battle. Sirius imagined the sounds of the wolf hurling itself at the door: thud after thud, and the creaking and moaning of the old house. Barking and yipping with each failed attempt, it would finally stop to let out a long plaintive howl. The memory of it sent shivers down his back.

Sirius felt the weight of a warm body flop next to him, smelling strongly of firewhiskey. James plopped down and offered him the bottle. He grabbed it and took a long swig, coughing slightly as he passed it back to James.

“Where’s the dementor?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve never known you to brood like this during a party, Pads. What’s got into you?”

Sirius scowled. “Maybe I’m just too mature for this shit.”

James rolled his eyes, “Says the man who put Mrs. Prickles Irritating Itching Powder in my pants yesterday.” They both snorted with laughter, until Sirius groaned. “Still sore from all those push-ups Old Mad-Eye made you do?”

“No.” Sirius snatched the firewhiskey back.

As the fire hissed and popped, Sirius stared at the bright flames flickering against the dark night, transfixed. He could feel the whiskey warming him. It sent a deep tingling sensation to his chest and spread outward to his fingers and toes. The booze loosened his tongue and freed the melancholy lodged in his chest. He sighed.

James elbowed him gently. “First full moon since Hogwarts.”

“I don’t see why he couldn’t have just come along. At least he wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“You know he’d never have been able to hide his furry little problem here. Anyways, he’s managed the summer holidays loads of times without us. This isn’t any different.”

“Yes, it is,” Sirius answered darkly. "He should be here. He deserves to be here."

“Couldn't agree more. But life's not fair, mate.” James stood up and placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, squeezing lightly. “C’mon, they’ve got Pete in a headlock. We’d better go rescue him.”

Sirius shrugged him off. “You go. And leave the firewhiskey.”

 

**Waxing Gibbous: Owl Post, August 1978**

_Moony,_

_Bootcamp is boring and awful. I’m not allowed to tell you where the campground is—but imagine the muggiest, mosquito-infested bog you can. It’s nothing like camping with the Potters. The tents only have two rooms each—one with bunks and the other a little washroom. The three of us are sharing with three other guys. Add the bugs and the humidity to the smell of James’ socks and the fact that no one has ever cast as much as an episky in the entire existence of this tent. It’s gross. Even by my incredibly low standards. And the food isn’t much better. They insist that we transfigure our own gatherings. It would be so much easier if I could just have Padfoot here with me. James found some berries the other day and attempted to transfigure them into a steak. It still tasted of fruit and it was poisonous. A keen nose would have spared us the day of vomiting._

_Training has been a bummer, too. So far, it’s just old Moody yelling at us. He’s woken us in our sleep at least once a night every night for the past four days. He says it’s practice for when the enemy sneaks up on us. Mostly though, I think he just wants to get us in our skivvies. Too bad for him, my skivvies are reserved for you._

_We have gotten to learn some pretty cool defensive spells. I can do a full Patronus! I just imagined it would be more like the best Defense Against the Dark Arts class ever—obstacle courses and practicing dueling with each other. Instead it’s mostly learning battle formations and practicing with pillows for targets. I’ve named my pillow Voldy. Just so I’m properly prepared for when I meet the Dark Lord._

_The other trainees are pretty great, can’t tell you who they are, of course. But we’ve been having all sorts of fun playing pranks and lighting bonfires._

_What does old Dumbles have you doing? It must be weird to spend the summer at Hogwarts without us. I hope you’re planning some pranks for the firsties when term starts. Someone has got to carry on the Marauder legacy. Even as Headmaster’s assistant._

_Give Peeves hell for me._

_\--Sirius_

 

**Full Moon: Hogwarts, February 1979**

Remus awakened on the cold dirty floor of the Shrieking Shack. Wind pushed its way into the rickety house and the chill seeped into his bones. Something was poking into his back, sharp and insistent. He groaned and rolled off of it, straight onto a heap of warm fur. He heard a yelp and mumbled a sleepy apology. His mind was still fuzzy but he took in the familiar scent of Padfoot and of home. He yawned, tasting the echoes of rabbit and squirrel in his mouth. He took a deep breath and tried to gather the strength to sit up. His bones ached with the memory of having been twisted and reshaped twice that night; he could still feel the pull of the moon thrumming in his blood. The scratches that covered his body stung. He tried to push himself up, but his elbows gave and he collapsed back to the floor. Then there were hands, warm and dry. One on his back, the other beneath his knees, lifting him off the ground. The strong grip was painful but reassuring. Sirius’ scent enveloped him, musk and dirt and dog all mixed with the ridiculous pumpkin aftershave he wore, reminding him that he was safe now, and cared for.

“Pads?” He whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah?”

“What are you even doing here?”

“Dumbledore sent for me.” He laid him onto the creaky bed in the corner of the room and covered Remus’ shivering body with the same dusty blankets that had been there as long as they could remember.

“But.. you’re not supposed to be here. James...the rest of your unit is in Kent.”

“And you’re not supposed to know that.”

“Please.” Remus rolled his eyes and then winced. “It was obvious from your last letter.” He gave Sirius a dry smile. “Besides, I’ll have you know--”

“Shhh. We can talk when you’ve slept some more.”

“Too much pain.”

Sirius frowned, “Here.” He pulled a bottle of dreamless sleep from his robes and held Remus’ head up to drink from it.

The blue liquid slid, cool and slimy, down Remus' throat. He hated Dreamless Sleep. The moment it took effect, a sudden tightness filled his chest, controlling the expansion and contraction of his lungs, slowing his breathing. He began to fidget, trying to stave off the urge to hold his breath just to have control. Instead, he counted each breath, focusing on the sensation of his chest rising and falling, just as Madame Pomfrey had taught him. As his breath evened out, a heaviness settled in his limbs; pretty soon, his eyelids weighed so much, he couldn’t keep them open. He was aware of Sirius climbing into bed and curling up next to him and the last thing he felt before he dropped off to sleep were Sirius’ lips on his forehead.

When Remus awoke again, he could see light coming through the window at the top of the stairs. Giving the shapes in the shack a greyish color. Sirius was a warm lump next to him. Remus poked the soft spot just beneath his ribs.

“Hmm?” Sirius shifted, so they lay nose to nose, breathing the same musty air.

“Missed you.”

Sirius grinned and kissed him. Remus kissed back, trying to ignore the pounding in his head, until Sirius pulled back abruptly.

“Urgh!” He wiped his mouth on the sheet. “You taste like dead birds.”

Remus sighed. “Did you let me out last night?”

“It was just like old times.”

“No. Sirius, how could you be so careless? There are children here. Someone could have gotten hurt."

“They didn’t, though. I was careful.” And to stop further conversation, he mouthed Remus’ jaw. He ran his fingertips gently over Remus’ chest and neck, stopping only when Remus hissed. He looked down to the edge of a fleshy pink burn.

“Merlin, Moony! Where did this come from? It didn’t happen last night. What happened?”

“Greyback. He found us. Three days ago, maybe. He brought six or seven Death Eaters with him. They destroyed the camp. The burn is from a silver goblet.”

Sirius started to lift the sheet, a sharp shock of cool air pebbling Remus’ skin.

“No!” He laid a hand on top of Sirius’ to stop him.

“Let me see?” Sirius asked softly. Remus looked at him and then looked away quickly, his shame bubbled in his stomach and his face felt hot. He pulled the sheet back, careful not to meet Sirius’ eye. There, just below his right collarbone, pink and raw, was the Black family crest, burned into Remus’ chest. Sirius swallowed hard and stared, unable to look away.

He tried to speak, to find anything to say, but his throat had gone dry. His throat worked, as his brain tried to find the right words.

“Bellatrix?”

Remus shook his head, his eyes shining and then as he tried to say speak, they spilled tears. “Re...” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “Regulus.”

“Fuck.” Sirius breathed and held onto Remus shoulders so tightly that his fingernails dug into soft skin.

 

**Waning Gibbous: Owl Post, September 1978**

_Sirius,_

_I hope bootcamp is ending better than it started. Though it all sounds rather fantastic compared to what Dumbledore had me doing this summer. I didn't leave the library except to eat and sleep for nearly two months. But I think I worked out a new way of encoding Order communications, so at least all my time spent in the dark ought to be worth something._

_Dumbledore doesn't need me here anymore since term has started, so I'll be finding something else to do. It's funny to think how much can change in just a few months. Since the attack on Holyhead, I just haven't been able to rest. They came so close to burning down the farm. I think I always would have ended up helping, but I want to do something, Sirius, not just sit and look at books all day. Dumbledore said he might send me on a mission in the next few months; I'll tell you all about it when I see you again. You'll have to teach me anything you're allowed to once you get back next week._

_In any case, that means you can stop pressuring me to terrorize the first-years--they've got enough to worry about. We're already sorting through the post because three of the first-year Muggle-borns were threatened before they even arrived. However you will be pleased to know that I've stopped Peeves from wreaking havoc at least three times since the start of term. No one should sully your reputation as the most obnoxious creature to ever grace these halls._

_Yours,  
Remus_

 

**Third Quarter: Werewolf Pack, January 1979**

It had been raining for as long as he could remember. Perhaps every day since he had begun his mission living with the pack. Remus had thought he would never be dry again. With each day that dawned cold and dreary, he felt the pull of the moon, stronger and stronger.

Life at the colony moved slowly, mechanically. Tents leaked constantly. The wind howled, blowing straight through the fabric and chilling him to the bone. There were no wands to fix the holes. Remus sewed patches the best he could. His fingers ached from the cold, and he did his best to repeat the neat stitches he had seen his mother make. But the cloth felt clumsy in his hands, and whatever waterproofing charms had once been used on the canvas had long worn off.

Giving up on patching the tent, and too bored to write a letter to Sirius, he tried instead to read. The book was damp and its ink-and-pulp smell was a welcome refuge from the moldy odor of the tent. He took a moment to breathe it in, letting it remind him of days spent reading lazily by the lake, sun shining on his face, while Sirius’ head lay in his lap. A warm breeze would play at his bangs, and Sirius would enchant leaves and sticks to play out ridiculously dramatic scenes to distract him from whatever tome he was studying. Soon enough, he would join in, voicing a character or two until the scene played itself out or Sirius got bored. And then they would simply hold each other until the sun began to sink and it was time for supper.

A deafening crash and a bright flash of light shook Remus out of his reverie. He heard the watchman shout a muffled cry of warning and panic reigned in the camp. From every direction red and green jets of light shot through the camp; tents came crashing down.

Hitting the floor, Remus crawled to the entrance of his tent just before it was hit with a confringo and burst into flames. Remus coughed, the smoke stinging in his throat and burning in his eyes. Between the clouds of smoke and the pouring rain, he could hardly see. It was impossible to know who might be hurt or how many Death Eaters there were.

Taking a deep breath, Remus stayed low, and ran for the apparition point. Something knocked into him and with a thud; he hit the ground, and the weight of the person who had tackled him slammed into his back, pressing him into the mud.

 

**Waning Crescent: Forbidden Forest, June 1978**

A warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the Forbidden Forest. The sun was setting over the lake, and three boys waited together under an invisibility cloak.

They barely fit under it anymore; elbows and knees jostled for space. They could feel each other's breaths--James' slow and steady, Sirius' rough and agitated, and Peter's shallow and nervous. Sirius coughed and fidgeted, restless with the feeling of standing on a precipice. Free of exams, yet still confined to the bounds of school, he felt torn. He was ready, he told himself, to go on to bigger and better things, for the marauders to face new adventures. Still, he longed stay forever in this last golden hour of sunshine. Twitching with anxiety, he shifted positions, accidentally whacking Peter in the face.

"Hey."  
"Sorry!"  
"Shhh."

The only sounds left were the susurrations of the leaves and the wind, as they kept vigil for the last time. Their hearts beat faster and their breaths quickened as night fell. The film of the cloak blurred their view, but they could see the movement of two figures in the purple dusk: Madame Pomfrey and Remus, two dark silhouettes making their way from the castle to the Whomping Willow. In the twilight they could still make out the leaves and blossoms on the Willow. It stood motionless, seemingly innocent, ready to strike at whatever foolish creature crossed its path.

They waited until Madame Pomfrey returned to the castle. As soon as the cover of darkness descended, they broke free of the cloak, stashing it under a bush. Moonlight created twisting shapes and shadows on the forest floor. A stag, a dog, and a rat emerged, releasing the wolf and taking off for the depths of the forest.


End file.
